On A Crooked Path
by Adele Elisabeth
Summary: Voldemort's rising rapidly. The Daily Prophet has taken to posting a death toll on the front page. Once again, we come to Hogwarts, and witness the events of the sixth year - and the beginning of a war.
1. We're Going WHERE?

[Disclaimer: I'm sure by now you know what the disclaimer is. Figure it out for yourselfs]  
  
  
Ack No Title Yet  
Chapter 3: We're Going WHERE?  
by Adele Elisabeth  
  
"I don't like this." Gom grumbled.  
Severus almost snarled his reply. "It's for their safety, you stupid owl."  
More than a little unnerved (and, well, frightened for -his- safety), Gom retreated into the hated cage, and nudged it's door shut.   
"That may just be the first intelligent thing you've ever done." Severus commented without looking up.  
Gom muttered darkly under his breath.  
  
Draco ran a hand through his pale hair, and sighed. He felt like an outcast in a place he once ruled - the Slytherin Common Room.   
Dumbledore had never seen fit to punish the child for the crimes of the parent, but here, Draco felt it might be more than a little appropriate. They seemed pretty damn criminal to him. However, idle talk was not incriminating (enough), and he was exhausted.   
Why had it been different yesterday?  
Oh.  
Morag had been there, yesterday. She'd been there to make him laugh when she thought he was getting to 'all Mister Gloom 'n' Doom' as she put it, there to cuddle up and tell him naughty jokes that she really wasn't supposed to know, or get, there to just be herself, a pleasant distraction from what he was trying so hard not to think about.  
Her petite, slender form fitted just right in his arms, and he'd found, to his surprise, that none of his thoughts of the future didn't have her in them. She'd just...come into his life and made herself at home. And he really didn't mind.   
He wished she could be there now...  
  
And actually, she was wishing just that very same thing.   
  
"We're going -where-?" Morag demanded incredulously.   
"New Zealand." Morganna repeated. "There aren't any Death Eaters there, and it's the last place Voldemort would think to look. You can stop looking like I just killed your owl, thank you very much young lady."  
"Where in New Zealand?" Morag asked sulkily.   
"We'll start in Wellington, but Lang's wife had relations in Dunedin. We'll probably stay with them."  
"We're going to have to muggle-ify ourselves, hmmm?"  
"Indeed."  
"Well, this sucks."  
"Morag Lillith Snape."  
"Sorry, Mum."   
"Pack what you absolutely must. Anything else, we can buy when we get there." Morganna instructed her pouty daughter. "We're leaving in two hours."  
When Morganna had left the room, Morag rolled her eyes, and muttered, "It so sucks to be me."   
  
Harry and Hermione sat in Potions, thinking that same thing.   
The gentler side of Professor Snape that had - reluctantly - emerged (from time to time, around his wife) during the summer had given them hope, but...alas. 'Twas a lost cause from the beginning.   
Professor Snape was, if anything, more...Snape-esque.   
Well, that might have had something to do with his wife and daughter in a foreign country, miles and miles away from him. Out of sight, but never, ever, out of mind.  
"Professor?" Hermione put up her hand.   
"Yes, Ms Granger?" Snape braced himself for one of her insufferably know-it-all observations. By god, if one more person asked if he was all right, he would not be held responsible for his actions...  
"Are you feeling all right?"   
"Ms Granger," he snapped, near breaking point, "You will in future mind your own business. It is not appropriate for you to ask personal questions of your teachers."  
To everyone's surprise, he did not take points.   
  
***  
  
Felt guilty for not updating sooner, so polished off this chapter. It's small, I know, forgive me? You know you love me.   
**grins and laughs**  
Morag: [walks up] Her writing sucks, right?  
Me: Hey! What the hell was that for?  
Morag: Duh! You put me on the other side of the frickin' planet from Draco! You are such a bitch.  
Me: **smirks**  
Morag: [glares, and waves wand menacingly] [does a patented Snape Evil-Death-Glare]  
Me: Oooh, I'm so scared. **pretends to be scared**  
Morag: [looks confused] But it works on everyone else...  
Me: You forget, missy. -I- know Snape's not your real father.  
Morag: [snaps her fingers] Damn. [brightens] Can you by any chance...I don't know, go back and change that? So that he is?  
Me: Haven't you read 'Wishful Thinking'?  
Morag: Yeah, but it sucked.   
Me: You may have a point.  
Morag: Ever going to do that one you had an idea for - the one where two alternate realities crossover and the Morgannas meet, my Mum, and the other one, who happens to be married to Sirius Black and was a Gryffindor?  
Me: Hey! You aren't supposed to tell them about that! **protests**  
Morag: Nyah, nyah, nyah. Where's Draco? Teasing the author is boring.   
Draco: [walks up behind Morag, and whispers something in her ear]  
Morag: [giggles wickedly]   
[Morag and Draco exit]  
Me: Characters. Pfft.   
Morganna: [appears, and pats Adele on the shoulder] Poor dear. Have a cup of tea.  
Me: **brightens** Two sugars?  
Morganna: Of course.  
[fades to black]  
[brightens up again]   
Me: You can review now, folks.   
Morganna: I think they know that.  
Me: Never can tell. **eyes readers suspiciously**  
Morganna: [looks firmly at Adele, and flicks a switch]  
[it fades to black. again]  
[brigh--no. Morganna's at the switch again] 


	2. Whoops

[Disclaimer: You know the drill]

New Zealand is not that bad, I live there, I love my country. Morag's just a bitch.

I do not intend to write Draco/Morag smut, Hayley, but you've just given me an idea and I have, because of it, changed the entire way I was going to do this chapter.

On A Crooked Path

(Ten galleons to whoever thinks they know why I've used that title)

Chapter Four: Whoops

by Adele Elisabeth

As it turned out, they didn't even make it out of Hogwarts.

Not due to any sort of danger, but because Dumbledore had unearthed something Voldemort wouldn't be able to get around, and was quite confident that they'd be far safer in Hogwarts.

Morganna and Severus were very pleased with this. They decided to let Morag know in the morning.

That morning...

Morganna went to enter the Slytherin girls' dormitory, before remembering that Morag had managed to fenangle a room of her own. She was pretty sure Morag used words like 'safety' (i.e. some of those girls' parents are loyal death eaters), but that what it amounted to was 'I want the hell out of there'.

Not thinking to knock on the door, she walked in.

There was a startled groan as she threw open the curtains around Morag's four-poster, and some movement under the thick blankets. After a few moments, Draco's blonde head emerged. "Er...sorry, Mrs Snape, Morag's still asleep..."

Morag stood by the end of the bed, in her dressing gown, and Draco had a sheet around him rather like a cloak. 

Morganna was staring at the two of them. After a moment or two, she began to laugh.

The young couple exchanged a confused look, and waited for Morganna's hilarity to subside. 

"All right, I'm not going to tell your father, Morag." She said finally. "I'm not a hypocrite and I'd rather not start acting like one. But I expect the proper precautions to be taken. I don't think Severus will be amused if his daughter falls pregnant." 

Morag and Draco nodded wordlessly, too stunned by their good fortune (Draco had figured Professor Snape would be indulging in some amateur castration at the very least, and Morag had feared grounding until she was 30). 

With a faint smile and not another word, Morganna left them to it. 

"She..."

"Oh my god..."

"Wait a second - hypocrite?" 

Morganna recalled her own dismay at being found in bed with Jonathan O'Connell, by Narcissa de Vries no less. Whoshe had been smugly superior at upon discovering the aforementioned girl with Lucius Malfoy. 

Thoughts of Narcissa brought a lump to her throat, but she pushed it away and concentrated on the matter at hand.

Well...it wouldn't have been fair to punish Morag for what she did herself. She should have done something she supposed, but she knew from experience that Morag was more likely to behave because there was something hanging over head than because she'd been punished already. 

Thank God Severus had been too tired to come with her...

***

Sorry folks, that's all for now. I've been struck by accursed Writer's Block.

Review?


	3. Ze New Girl

[Disclaimer: JKR is a goddess, and I bow down to her superior talent (even if I dislike Harry)]

Don't you just hate Writer's Block? I'll try and make this chapter much longer than the last one.

Oh, and as you may have noticed, I finally have a title. As I mentioned last chapter, ten galleons to whoever can work out why it's called what it's called. 

Note: new story on the way. A Grandparents Generation fic. The name of Morganna's mother has changed from Delilah to Cassandra, and Aunt Margolotta Winterburn is Mrs Montaque's sister, not Mr Montaque's. (So it's yet another prequel. What is it with me and this stupid series?)

Helena Everly, a new character introduced in this chapter, is partially based on Gwendolyn from the DarkSword trilogy by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. More her gift than personality or looks (Gwendolyn was blonde, while Helena's hair is jet-black). 

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Five: 

by Adele Elisabeth

Morag stood with the other students while they waited for Hagrid to bring out the latest creature.

She had, as had they all, been expecting some monstrous creation.

What graced their vision was beautiful. Dark, enigmatic -- and beautiful. 

They were looking at a black pegasus. 

"Aint she a beauty?" Hagrid patted the creature's neck fondly. "Name's Eve, and she's far too aristocratic to be a pet or a beast of burden." At this, Eve gave the impression of strutting without actually moving. Morag wondered if Draco was taking ntoes. "Of course, she might give you rides...if you're polite and gentle, and bribe 'er with sugar." 

Most of the class groaned. Why would they have thought to bring sugar cubes to class?

"I've taken the liberty of buying a supply of sugar cubes." Hagrid added. "Take a paper packet each, and give her no more than one or two at a time."

As the class surged forward, Hagrid added "Pay attention to her, there'll be assignments after this." 

Hermione, Morag noted, looked pleased. Trust her to like the prospect of research. 

"Ah, Ms Everly." Dumbledore smiled at the nervous young French girl in the seat before him. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, 'Eadmaster." She replied respectfully. 

Anyone who wasn't aware of Thamala Blake's whereabouts -- and even those who were -- might have thought for a moment she was back. Ms Everly was identical to the now-infamous Ms Blake, down to the black eyes and ruby lips. Well, her hair was straight, but that was thanks to a charm, and not nature. 

However, they could relax, for all would be revealed.

"A Necromancer at Hogwarts, well, we haven't had one of them for some time. Yours is a rare breed, Ms Everly." Dumbledore watched her carefully, but she seemed unlikely to do anything other than nod politely. 

"I understand you only recently learned of your gift?" 

"I only recently discovered zat it was a gift." She corrected. "I never understood why nobody could see my friends, and I'm certain my papa zought me mad." 

Thought. Past tense. Ms Everly's eyes welled up with tears. 

"I was sorry to hear about Mr Everly's murder." Dumbledore patted her hand comfortingly. "He was a good man." 

"Yes. 'E was." Changing the subject abruptly, she continued, "I understand my twin attended zis school for a year." 

"Ms Blake? Yes, she did." 

"It was 'er maman--" Ms Everly could not bring herself to refer to that monster as her mother, "--zat killed my papa. It was, I understand, an accident. I was ze intended victim. Thamala was to replace me. Papa and I were apart so often, it might 'ave worked if zings 'adn't gone wrong for zem. Grandmama transferred me 'ere to 'Ogwarts immediately when she found out. Zought zis place would be safer. You are quite well-known and well-liked, 'Eadmaster." 

"Well, we shall have to get you sorted and then you can see how you like Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled at her. 

Helena Capricia Everly gave him a tentative half-smile, which was gone almost as quickly as it came. 

That, he supposed, he would have to make do with.

"I heard there's another transfer from France."

"I heard it was that Blake girl back again."

"Again? No way. Dumbledore's mad as a hatter, but he's not stupid."

"Think--"

Whatever that person had been about to say, they didn't get a chance to finish as a hush fell. Helena was standing nervously in the doorway. After a few moments, she regained her composure and strode with a confidence she didn't feel to the Ravenclaw table. 

Animated whispers broke out. 

Morag stared, incredulous, at the ebony-tressed girl's back. 

"I thought Blake was put away!" she hissed to Draco, who looked as lost as she did.

"So did I." He replied grimly. "Guess we were wrong."

The Ravenclaws, in the meantime, had shifted along either side until Helena was isolated at the table, head down. 

Dumbledore stood up. "We have a new arrival, students. This is Ms Helena Everly, and she has come to us from France. I'm sure you will all make her feel welcome." At the silence that followed this, Dumbledore sighed, realising he was going to have to reassure them about her identity before any of them would believe him. "She is not, despite rumors, Ms Blake. The similarity is merely remarkable." He felt it wouldn't be a good idea to broadcast the kinship between the two girls. 

Reluctantly, the Ravenclaws closed the gap.

Morag was watching her with new interest. This girl may have closely resembled one of the people she hated most, but that was what fueled her curiosity. There was something going on here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. 

DADA with the Ravenclaws. Perfect opportunity. 

Morag seated herself next to Helena, as nobody else had, or looked like they were likely to. 

"Hi. I'm--"

"Morag Snape." Helena finished for her. "I'm Helena Everly. So nice to meet you." Her tone suggested she didn't really give a damn at all, and that nothing was likely to change this.

"What are you, a seeress?" Morag raised an eyebrow.

"I wish." Helena muttered. Visions would be easier than chatty dead people. "No, I'm not." She didn't elaborate.

"Then how did you know who I am?" Morag persisted. Their teacher -- Sirius Black's name had been cleared earlier that year and he had been brought in to teach with little coaxing required -- hadn't shown up yet. 

"Doesn't everybody?" Helena countered. "You're quite ze celebrity, Mademoiselle Snape."

Morag frowned, and didn't pester her further, waiting for the teacher.

Helena regarded her reflection that evening. After classes, she'd gone straight to the en suite of the girls' dormitory and claimed the bathroom. Now she stood in front of her full-length mirror, wrapped in a black silk dressing gown with her damp hair streaming down her back. 

"Ze resemblence...!" She muttered bitterly. "Identical, you mean, 'Eadmaster." 

Behind her, there was a polite cough.

Startled into fright, she whirled, and found herself face to face with a handsome young man, tall, dark haired -- and somewhat translucent. 

"'Oo," she asked when she'd regained her composure, "Are you?"

"William Davis, at your service." He bowed extravagantly. "Seventh year Slytherin, class of 1970." 

"Zat was 30 years ago." She said flatly. "Give or take."

"How time flies. Surely you know, time means nothing to the dead." Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. "You, I understand, are the Necromancer."

"Correct." By this time, she had calmed sufficiently. She took note of the cold feeling of his hand and lips, and noted also that he was a polterguist, though not the usual sort of polterguist. 

"Do you know how to make me be seen? The polterguist, Peeves, he taught me how to lift objects, but I can't seem to work out how to make people see me."

"Ozzer ghosts can. See you, zat is. I don't know what makes ze few spirits zat can be seen different, unfortunately."

He deflated somewhat. "Ah, well."

But in Helena's mind, a plan was forming...

"You said you can lift zings? 'Ow strong are you?"

Seated in the library, Morag was unsurprised to see Ravenclaw's newest addition enter. What did surprise her was what happened next.

"Do you know where I'd find ze books on--" Helena began, but it seemed something cut her off. 

Helena, when I was a student here, I wouldn't have been caught dead in the library. It just wasn't the done thing.

"Zat's absurd, and certainly doesn't 'elp us at all."

I suppose I remember a few things from the lessons we had in the library. I think they were mostly practising our research skills, anyway.

"Zat's a start."

Morag, of course, could not hear William's side of the conversation. At first she thought the girl was mad, but then something happened that changed her mind.

A book floated towards Helena. The title read 'A Necromancer's Guide To The Spirits'. 

Will this one do?

"It's perfect."

After issuing the book, Helena and her unseen companion took their leave.

And Morag was left to wonder what in the hell she had just witnessed. She was sure it was something - she just didn't know exactly what that something was.

***

I'm on a roll...no more Writer's Block for me! (For a while, anyway)

Morag: [rolls her eyes] You are so lame.

Me: Don't disrespect your creator.

Morag: So now I have to worship you? What planet are you from?

Me: [sighs theatrically] Do you people see what I have to put up with? She could at least be grateful I changed my mind about sending her out of England, but no, she has to ignore my kindness...

Morag: [rolls her eyes again] You are so pathetic. Look, people, everybody knows I'm the brains behind these stories, so I want some reviews for all my hardwork. 

Me: [splutters] Hard work? You? You wouldn't know hard work if you were beat in the backside with it!!!

Morag: Hey! I summoned the Keeper thingie! That was hard!

Me: [grudgingly] Okay...

Morag: See? Anyway, review peoples!

[They exit, bickering]


	4. Early Days

[Disclaimer: Anything created by JK Rowling, I clearly do not own]  
This is the...well, actually I don't know the number of the top of my head, but anyway, this story follows A Summer of Secrets. No new characters this time, I'm having enough trouble keeping track of the ones I've got so far.   
My dear, dear readers, I do hope that the ending of A Summer of Secrets as a little better than the terrible ending of Keeper of Secrets. This story should be good, too.   
I don't think I'll kill any more main characters, either. Well, not many, anyway. Can't make any promises for the seventh year story, though. **looks innocent while sharpening a knife and watching Harry**  
Heheh. Okay, that's enough of my little previewness. on with the story.  
You'd think by now I'd have a title. Tell ya what, you read this, and in your review, give me some suggestions!   
Which means you have to review. Damn, I'm good. **is aware of how full-of-herself that statement sounded, and doesn't give a damn**  
  
Ack. No Title Yet.   
Summary: Voldemort's rising rapidly. The Daily Prophet has taken to posting a death toll on the front page. Once again, we come to Hogwarts, and witness the events of the sixth year - and the beginning of a war.  
Prologue  
Once more, the wizarding community trembled.   
The traumatizing events of the summer had driven home the fact that Voldemort was not going to accept defeat.   
Not going down without a fight.  
Voldemort was not going to give up, as long as there was breath left in his body.  
As he'd proved already, he was not going to give up even if there wasn't breath left in his body.  
One couldn't just kill him, one had to destroy him.   
Utterly.  
The Ministry of Magic was scrambling, trying desperately to find a way.  
Fudge had maintained so that Voldemort was gone, Voldemort was dead, Voldemort wasn't coming back.  
And now he'd been proven wrong.  
Twice.  
Irreparable damage had been done.   
And it was just early days, yet.  
  
Chapter One: Early Days  
  
Morag stood with Draco, waiting for the train.  
The sun wasn't shining. It was a rainy, cold, miserably dreary day.   
Draco's aunt Constance had come to England, and taken him off the Snapes hands, remaining in England. She'd taken a long, hard look at the situation, and said, in the circumstances, she'd like very much to be wherever Albus Dumbledore was.   
"It's a bloody good idea, Morag." He said calmly.   
"I don't like it." She stated.  
"I know you don't. That doesn't change a thing."   
"I could have said no if Daddy or Mum had come and told me." Her tone was accusatory.  
"They knew that."  
"Traitor."  
"Not so, Morag. This is for your own good."  
"Shut it, Draco."  
"You'll give in."  
"I know that, damn it. I could have said no to them." What went unspoken was the fact that while she could have said no to her parents, she couldn't say no to Draco.  
"You'll like it there."  
"I meant it when I said shut it. Shut it or I'll shut it for you." She growled.  
"Yes, Morag." Draco had already mastered the 'put-upon-boyfriend/husband' tone that existed in nearly every society known to man.  
  
During his wife's pregnancy, Severus had worried incessantly. Considering the circumstances surrounding everyone, one could hardly blame him.  
In the end - if only to calm him - she'd moved from her chambers into his, and that way he could be sure she wasn't going to do anything that might give cause for worry. Morag personally didn't see why they hadn't shared chambers to begin with - after all, otherwise they couldn't argue about who snored and whose feet were colder.  
So now Morag was banging on the door of her parent's chamber, to rouse them and let them know that that bloody owl was on the loose again...  
It was the first weekend of the year. Severus swore and mumbled blearily about being allowed to sleep in on bloody saturday's...  
"What do you want?" he glowered at the space he was pretty sure Morag was in. Half-asleep potions master. That can't be good.  
"Mother's stupid cat's harrassing Mother's stupid owl in the Owlery and it's causing a bit of a fuss. Students betting on the outcome and all that." She replied promptly. (She wasn't about to add that she had five galleons on Damnation, but the wicked gleam in her eye suggested that it went without saying)  
Severus swore again.   
"I'll just let you get back to your rest, then." Morag grinned evilly again and scarpered.  
  
Severus stormed into the Owlery, to find a ring of students around the warring cat and owl, cheering them on.  
"What is going on in here?" he thundered at them, his temper increasing tenfold.   
There was immediate silence. Gom and Damnation slunk out.   
"I said, what is going on in here?" Severus repeated, lowering his voice back to normal, with a deceptively mild edge.  
"Nothing, professor." One student managed to say, before whimpering and hiding behind a friend.  
"Fifteen points from each of you." He snapped at them. There was muffled grumbling as the students filed out.   
"Not even the first lesson and already..." the put-upon professor groaned quietly, massaging his temples and trying to remember why the hell he ever wanted to be a professor in the first place.  
  
***  
  
Okay, I know I'm working on almost half a dozen stories already, but this has been nagging at me for a while.  
Oh, that and I love all the brilliant reviews I get from my friends about this 'saga'...(**unsubtle hinting**)  
So, things to look forward to in this story:  
A less-than-touching father-son reunion (guess who, come on, I know you're smart people)  
A few more flashbacks - one of them Morganna and Narcissa, 16 and 17, drunk, throwing chocolate at Severus...(a very recent rp that I just had to work in someplace...heheh. -I- thought it was funny)  
We find out what it is Morag doesn't want to do (once I remember, that is)  
I go begging to Eleanor to ask if I can borrow Este again for some more Este and George fluff.  
Ginny and Kieran have several loud, public displays of 'being really pissed off' followed by 'icky mushy bits' where they make up.   
A quiet moment with the senile owl.  
And the dish ran away with the--okay, ignore me.   
Note: the rating is for later chapters. 


	5. America, Here I Come

[Disclaimer: See previous]  
  
'...'  
Chapter Two: America, Here I Come  
  
"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your students, Severus," Morganna flared.   
"Nothing else seems to be working!" he snapped back irritably. "You -will- go with her, Morganna."  
"I won't and you can't make me." She poked her tongue out at him.  
"Spoken like a true, responsible adult." Severus commented with much sarcasm.  
"Don't patronize me."  
"Don't act like a child."  
"I will -not- go."  
"It's for your own safety."  
"You've tried to pull that one before, m'love. I didn't go then either. Although that time you were trying to convince me to divorce you, I believe."  
"And I was right, wasn't I?" he prodded her. "You were kidnapped."  
"Not the sort of thing that would slip my mind, Severus. I'm well aware of what happened."  
"Then you'll go."  
"No."  
"For god's sake, woman," Severus ran a hand through his hair as his petite wife glared at him.   
"I'm right here, and unless you're going to drag me kicking and screaming, this is where I'll stay."  
"Don't tempt me, Morganna, don't bloody well tempt me."  
  
"Urgh. I don't see why I have to go." Morag glared.   
Draco sighed. "You've been through this with your parents. Voldemort wants you dead, remember?"  
"How could I forget. But I don't want to go."  
"Somehow, I don't think you have much choice in the matter."   
"It's not fair."   
"Life's not fair, Mora."  
"Aren't we philosophical." She observed acidly.  
"Don't."  
"Bugger you."  
"No thanks."  
"You're impossible, you know that, don't you?"  
"Why yes, yes, I do."  
"Arrgh!"  
  
Dumbledore regarded the students gravely as he stood at dinner. "As you all know, Voldemort -is- rising. It seems highly unlikely that he will leave Hogwarts unscathed, and therefore certain non-compulsory classes will be dropped in favour of more DADA, such as Divination,"  
The reason for the sulky look on Professor Trelawney's face became apparent. And more pronounced.   
"Your studies in that department will focus on identifying and protecting yourself from the magics used by the Death Eaters."  
A hush fell over the Great Hall as this information was digested.   
"Currently, the death toll stands at 103, including the recent muggle killings."  
More than one student had found news of family deaths at the breakfast table.   
Tearfully, one girl shot out of her seat and, sobbing, escaped to her dorm room.   
After a brief glance at Dumbledore, Morganna went after her. She had become the unofficial counsellor, sort of just fell into the role, as students recognized the friendly, motherly face of the slight, silver-blonde woman that was Mrs M. Snape.   
Morag watched as her mother left the hall quietly, and buried her face in Draco's chest, as he put his arms comfortingly around her.   
Harry didn't even bother to feel a pang of jealousy, just listening to Dumbledore's grim words.   
"I understand several students will be leaving Hogwarts for an unspecified length of time. Your parents have notified me, and you will be given texts to study during your time away. Those who can, will have tutors."  
As he sat, many of the pupils gathered realised they'd not much of an appetite.  
  
Morganna stood glaring at her husband at the airport terminal in London. Next to her was Lang Hyland, her uncle, Marguerite Hyland, Lang's youngest daughter (Morag's age), and Morag herself.   
Severus kissed his wife's pouty lower lip and sighed. "Morganna, I--"  
Her glare melted into an expression of utter helplessness.  
"Go on ahead, Lang." Severus told the older man, and Lang nodded, taking Marguerite and Morag with him. The two young girls exchanged a look, rolled their eyes, and trailed after him.  
Severus gathered his tiny wife up in his arms, and she buried her face in his hair.   
"I'll miss you terribly." She whispered.   
"It's much safer this way." He replied softly, and she tightened her embrace around his neck.   
"I know that. I don't have to like it, though."  
"Neither do I."  
And she reluctantly released her hold on him and backed up.   
With frequent backward glances, Morganna made her way to the [airport go-y in-y thing-y. I'm sorry my wonderful readers, I just can't remember what in the hell it's called].   
"America, here I come." She whispered.  
  
***  
  
Okay, so that's the next chapter. I've been working on it a while, so I expect praise and huggles. **looks imperiously at them**  
Okay, the huggles part is for my friends. But I want praise, and lots of it.  
Oh all right, just bleedin' review.   
Praise -would- be nice...  
  
**laughs at herself**   
  
Morag: Christ. My creator...she's a little, well, quite frankly, she's utterly bonkers.  
Adele: Hey!  
Morag: Aren't you?  
Adele: It's just not nice to say things like that when I'm around.  
Morag: Well. [pauses, grins evilly] Bugger off, then.  
Adele: I brought you into this world, I can bleedin' well take you out of it.  
Morag: You're not my mother. **flounces off with Draco, to...ahem, 'study'**  
  
Threw in that 'interesting' dialogue with my 'favorite' little Snape just for my own amusement...  
See y'all later,  
Adele Elisabeth 


	6. Once Upon A Dark Night

[Disclaimer: I do not own what JK Rowling created]

Author's Note: 

I do believe this story is taking longer than 'Keeper of Secrets' or 'A Summer of Secrets'. Mostly, I've read through both again and have decided they're definitely not up to standard, and I'd like for this story to be better. The introduction of Helena Everly was a spur of the moment whim. I'm not actually entirely sure where I'm going with her, just know that it'll be pretty damn interesting. Not to mention a bumpy ride for all involved. Namely Helena, of course. Morag'll probably get dragged in somehow, she has a habit of that, doesn't she?

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Six: Once Upon A Dark Night

by Adele Elisabeth

Helena sat bolt upright in her bed, silhouetted by the moonlight, catching her breath and trying hard not to scream, or to weep. 

That dream again...that nightmare.

Helena had been the one unfortunate enough to happen upon her father's body. He was laid out carefully in his study, the Dark Mark burned into his chest and blood everywhere...

The magical sound-proofing had meant her screaming had gone unheard, and she'd been found hours later, trembling and weeping uncontrollably in a corner of the study, staring at what was left of her beloved father. 

And now, almost every single night since, she relived it. 

It wasn't fair, it wasn't. How could anyone be so cruel -- to someone who had once loved them so much? To the father of their children. 

Helena knew exactly who it had been. 

Since then, there had been attempts on her life. She had barely survived, but her death was not where it ended. 

With her father gone, the only person who could really uncover anyone else as a fraud, Helena wasn't just going to be killed, she was going to be replaced. Helena had discovered this purely by accident, receiving a letter intended for Thamala when the messenger mistook her for her cold-hearted twin. It would be staged so that her body would be placed in Thamala'...wherever she was, and Thamala would be put into her chambers -- with none the wiser. 

Helena had immediately gone to her grandmother, also a Helena -- her namesake, as it happened. Helena-Marie Everly had a met Albus Dumbledore years ago, and they had kept up with each other through letters. Helena-Marie would trust Hogwarts' Headmaster with her life -- now she trusted him with her granddaughter's life. 

Sometimes, when she was all alone, Helena wondered if she really was safe here. She was terrified, and that was putting it mildly. She didn't go anywhere without at least one blade on her, and never once did she put her wand down. Helena-Marie had always been close to her granddaughter, closer to her than to any of her other grandchildren, or indeed any of her children. She had known that Helena wouldn't be satisfied with being protected -- Helena Everly wanted to know how to protect herself. So the aging witch had called in favors and Helena was trained in various styles of fighting. 

Now...Helena hated to admit it, but she had felt safer with her grandmother near. It was strange, as it was not as though Helena-Marie could reasonably be expected to protect anyone. 

This Dumbledore person didn't strike her as much better, but she knew better than to second-guess her grandmother. 

For now...for now she would just try to get some sleep.

Tomorrow she'd ask Madam Pomfrey for some of that Dreamless Sleep potion.

***

Morag sat up, staring at her moonlit reflection in the mirror. Next to her, Draco slept, unaware of her midnight musings. 

He'd become a regular guest in her chamber, and not just for...extracurricular activities. There was a pleasant sense of security in being able to roll over and have someone to cuddle up to, to reassure oneself of...well, Morag wasn't sure what exactly she was reassuring herself of, but it was pleasant, none the less. 

It wasn't as though they were likely to get caught (again), seeing as how none of the other girls came into her chamber (without permission, anyway), and Draco generally got up before any of the other boys (and was usually dressed and washed well before them). 

Besides...Morag's mother had been married and pregnant at her age. Morganna's mention of hypocrisy had made that fact unavoidable. Not that she didn't know the story by now anyway, it just...it was more real. 

In any event, Morag Lillith Snape (and why the hell couldn't she be Lillith Morag, anyway? Lillith was such a nice name) needed reassuring of some description, especially now.

Voldemort.

She hadn't defeated Voldemort the last time, nobody had. They'd just...pushed him back. For a little while. Who knew what happened next?

And what part did that Everly girl have to play in it?

And then...what with the twins and all...

With a long-suffering sigh, Morag lay back down in the circle of Draco's arms and tried to get back to sleep.

***

Morganna had tried to sleep, but she couldn't. 

Something, you see, had gone wrong with her pregnancy. The babies...she nearly lost them. What had to be done in the end...it wasn't certain she would keep them.

Madam Pomfrey had called in a specialist mediwitch and her team, and they had taken the babies out of the womb. Specially-designed spells and round-the-clock care meant that their growth and the like would speed up. By late afternoon tomorrow, it was expected, they would be the same size as babies that had been born dead on time. 

Bad choice of words, perhaps.

In any case, they would be bigger, and after a few weeks of care, healthy, too. 

Morganna just wanted to see her babies. 

She and Severus had named them, but not the names previously decided on. 

Julian Sebastien Snape and twin sister Lowella Isabelle Snape. 

There was no scar from where the babies were taken out, and the following spells that had been performed on her had had the interesting side-effect of giving her back her figure. 

She wasn't entirely sure that she liked that completely. Oh, it was nice to know she was...back to normal, as it were, but...it seemed as though if she lost Julian and Lowella, there'd be no trace of their ever having been. 

What frightened her most right now was not Voldemort, indeed, You-Know-Who seemed like the least of her worries. It was the idea that her beautiful babies might not survive. 

Was it her fault? 

What had they done to deserve this? 

It's too much, too soon...

***

Author's Note:

Well...that was morbid. 

I have no idea what on earth prompted me to write any of that. 

Well...the last part was probably to avoid having to work out exactly when Morganna would give birth and all that, because I'm too lazy, but anyway. It could have been worse. She could have lost the poor darlings. 

And, I know, I decided on the names ages ago...but I changed my mind. I found Lowella, oddly enough, in an interesting if slightly odd book called 'Bride of Pendorric'. 

By the way, I was watching 'Dogma' last night and kept getting this image of Severus Snape as the Metatron. Well, he's got the sarcasm down pat...

Made for some truly bizarre dreams, I'm telling you now. Not exactly unpleasant, mind you (well, one part was definitely unpleasant), but bizarre. 

Imagine a world where Alanis Morisette is god, where Salma Hayek is a thousands year old stripper, where Alan Rickman complains sarcastically, Chris Rock is speechless and the fate of the world is in the hands of Jay and Silent Bob...

Well, that was more or less what it said on the ad. 

Good movie. 

Yes, I do realise how completely irrelevant all of that just was. Sue me. 


	7. And So The Plot Thickens

[Disclaimer: What JK created, I don't own.] 

****

Author's Note

Yes, you have seen most of this before – I'm sort of playing around with some stuff at the moment, but I wanted to get rid of pretty much everything after chapter six. I didn't like much of it. So here we go. 

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Seven: And So The Plot Thickens

By Adele Elisabeth 

__

"Going home so soon?" Jean raised an eyebrow. "Normally you stay all summer." 

"Yes, well." William sighed. "A cousin of mine is getting married soon, and we have to go." 

"Surely that won't take all the holiday." His friend – his best friend – protested. 

"'Course not, but Mother doesn't want to leave for the wedding and then come back here for what's left of the holidays." 

"You better write this time. You seem to have this habit of forgetting all about your friends when they're not right in your face." 

"Hey! Aryssa stole my owl! It wasn't my fault!" William protested, but trailed off at Jean's irrepressible grin. "You live to bait me." 

"So what if I do? You make it so easy." 

"I'll see you next summer," William laughed, turning away. 

He never did. 

That had been so long ago, he'd thought he'd forgotten it. Evidently not. 

Jean Everly and William Davis had been best of friends. They'd met when they were eleven – William had expressed a wish to learn French, so his mother bought a house in France and they went every summer. 

From that first meeting, all those many years ago now, they became best friends. Meeting up every summer for…seven years? He wasn't sure. Seven, perhaps. 

But then _that_ night…and William didn't go back to France. William didn't ever leave Hogwarts. 

It had been an accident, apparently, a tragic accident. 

The memories were aged, but not so much he couldn't remember…no, William wasn't that far gone. Perhaps just a little gone. He was still here, though, wasn't he? 

Arrgh. Sometimes he confused himself. 

What he had to wonder at was why he was even thinking of any of this now. It was so long ago. It didn't matter. It really didn't. Jean was probably—

Okay, Jean was dead too now, and Jean's daughter wasn't aware that William ever knew him, but still. 

And everybody else he'd known…living their lives in happy obliviousness. Didn't matter to _them_ that William was a ghost, and a ghost with problems at that. They probably didn't even remember him. 

Except maybe—

__

No. Not going there. Not on his afterlife was he bringing up _those_ memories, even in the privacy of his own head, with nobody else around. There were somethings you could live (ummm…) without. _That_ was one of them. 

~*~

Somewhere in England, the subject of William's repression was obliviously buying flowers. One white rose, one red rose, and, on a whim, a bright purple one, a high-lighter green one, and a soft, blushing pink one. And, lastly – but certainly not least. Ly – one that shimmered every colour of the rainbow. 

It was good to be a wizard, Hugh Paquette mused as he strolled out of the florist's, and it was even better to be Hugh. 

A few hours later, he was making his yearly visit to the Davis home, with it's garden that doubled as family cemetery and had for many, many years. Winding his way through the older headstones to a newer one – one of the few kept clean and tidy – he put his roses down on the white marble. 

__

William Robert Davis

1953-1970,   
unknown and forgotten to some he may be, 

but the earth that enshrouds him is sacred to me*

Hugh could still remember the startled cry, followed by the sickening crack…Jason's eyes widening with horror as he realised what he had inadvertently done…

That wasn't how it was supposed to be. It wasn't. But…it's what had happened. 

So Hugh came here every year – at different times, often, but every year all the same – and left his flowers. At first he'd spoken…as if Will could hear him. He'd apologised so many times it didn't even sound like a real word to him anymore. Just a jumble of sounds, thrown together any old how and handed over to a person who couldn't hear him, couldn't forgive. 

Not that Hugh thought Will _should_ forgive him, in any case…

But still. It would be nice to have the option. 

In other words, it'd be nice if Will wasn't dead. Clearly. 

However, that wasn't the case. That ship had sailed. Crashed. 

That was a really crappy metaphor, he decided. 

__

*This is taken from an actual headstone, with the she and her switched to he and him. Just so you know. I thought it was sweet. 

~*~

Helena watched her ghostly companion. In the short time that they'd known each other, it had become pretty easy to read William. But today was different. Today he was completely…unknown. Which was odd, and she was fairly sure she didn't like it. At all. Because William was her constant. In Hogwarts, he'd become who and what she relied on. While the rest of her life had shifted and changed and dragged her along with it, this new part had just…been there. A part of her life like he'd always been there, even though she knew he hadn't. 

It was slightly odd. But it was the way things were and she wouldn't like it much if things changed. In fact, she wouldn't like it at all. 

She didn't like it now that something was wrong and she didn't know what. 

Something was going on…something was brewing…that much she knew for sure. Not only that, but a _war_ had begun. Her father – one of it's casualties. 

So why was she so worried about a man who was already dead? Who she'd known for a comparatively short time? 

Because it was easier, that's why. And because he worried about her, though he'd known her for such a short time. He considered her family, for reasons that he hadn't chosen to share. 

Helena sighed. 

This uncertainty was not enjoyable. The fact those Gryffindors kept pestering her, trailing along behind her with their suspicious looks and curious eyes and questions, always their questions…not to mention that Slytherin girl, Morag Snape. 

Couldn't they see she had enough to deal with without their interfering selves muddying the waters? 

~*~

__

"Cassandra." The name was spoken tersely, and as if saying it was physically unpleasant. 

"Hello, Jean. What, no hugs, no kisses? Don't you love me anymore?" Cassandra mocked her ex-husband, sitting down on the edge of his desk.

"What do you want?" Jean chose to ignore her malicious, mocking banter. 

Helena watched, trapped in a corner of the study. She wanted to warn her father, wanted to scream and rage at this terrible, terrible woman, but she found she could not speak, and she could not move. All she could do, was watch. 

"What do I want? Simple, really. Helena." 

Helena gasped, but neither her mother nor her father could hear her, no more than they could see her. 

"You can't have her." Jean stood up, but Cassandra didn't move. 

"If you don't give her to me nicely, I'll get you out of my way and take her anyway." 

"She'll never--"

"She'll never what, Jean? All her little life, she's been brought up to believe Mummy's dead, and that she's an only child. I wonder how she'd feel if she found out you'd been lying to her all her life." 

"Don't be stupid, Cassandra. She's not going to betray everything she stands for because I didn't tell her that her mother is pure evil." 

Helena wanted to nod along with her father. In his place, she'd have done the same thing. 

"Pure evil? Darling, you flatter me." 

"Get out of my house." Jean bit out harshly. 

"I rather like it, here, Jean. After all, it was my house, too, once upon a time." 

"A long time ago. You are no longer welcome here."

"You loved me, Jean Everly. True, you didn't know that I was a Death Eater, but you loved me. I was different, I was 'eccentric', and I was your wife. Don't tell me that was all another of your lies?" 

"You're the one with a penchant for lying, Cassandra." 

"I do wish you'd call me Cassie again. I used to love the way you said my name."

"Is there a point to this?" 

"Yes, Jean. It's time to say goodbye. Properly." She slipped off of the edge of the table, and walked around to stand in front of Jean. Very slowly, almost solemnly, she reached up on her tiptoe and kissed him. He was ramrod straight and unmoving, at least to begin with. Helena watched in silent horror as her father's defenses crumbled and he finally relaxed into this murderess's embrace.

He hadn't a second to react or a chance to notice the poisoned dagger that went down his side.

She turned him around, and pushed him back onto the desk, standing above him, smirking maliciously down at him. 

"Poison, my love. It won't kill you, but it will incapacitate you. You'll be able to feel, but you won't be able to move yourself, or cry out." She said all this, very cheerfully, as she unbuttoned his shirt. "Takes most of the fun out of torture -- no screaming -- but I can make sacrifices. Don't want anybody coming along to investigate, now, do I?"

Jean's eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere but at Cassandra. He looked...a mixture of things. Surprise was not one of them. He was resigned to his fate, yes, but the idea of Cassandra getting her hands on Helena was more than he could bear. 

Then his eyes met the horrified, terrified eyes of his daughter. 

Shock went through both of them. Helena didn't understand how he could see her, he didn't understand how she could possibly be there. He could tell she couldn't move herself, and when she tried to speak to him, no sound came out. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

Cassandra was confused. Why was Jean staring into the corner? She decided to ignore it, and continued talking in that chatty, friendly tone, as she began to torture him. He'd be dead by morning, and she'd be long gone. 

Jean's eyes never left Helena's. 

When finally the hateful woman was gone, there was blood everywhere. He wasn't dead yet, but there was no hope for him. The Dark Mark was burned into his chest and...god, there was so much blood...

Helena rushed forward, finally able to move, and dragged him as gently as she could off of the desk, holding him close to her, him collapsed on the floor, not more for this world, and her clinging helplessly to him as she cried, and cried, and cried, sitting on the floor, getting covered in his blood and just crying.

"Papa," she whispered, as his eyes closed, and Jean Daniel Everly died in the arms of his distraught daughter. 

Helena sat there for a long time, holding him, alternately crying hopelessly and trying to shake him awake.

When she heard the footsteps at the door -- her own footsteps, she realised with a start -- she looked up, and then...her vision swam, the world spun, and she was...

...collapsed in front of her bed, in Hogwarts.

"Just a dream, Everly, it was just a--"

Helena screamed when she saw that she was covered in blood. 

~*~

Helena had more or less recovered when she was seated in Dumbledore's office. Her grandmother had been unable to come, so Adrian, her cousin, had been sent, and he stood protectively behind her, hands on her shoulders. 

"Necromancy, Miss Everly, is very powerful magic." Dumbledore began, piercing blue eyes fixed on her. "What you have described, and the evidence we have seen for ourselves--" The blood, of course, "--shows that this was no ordinary dream. You have experienced a type of Necromancy-related astrally-projected time-travel. You saw the events as they happened, were actually there. You could not change them, but you were there."

"Sir, Papa saw me. And I was...I 'eld 'im..." Helena faltered, and Adrian looked even more grim. This wasn't fair, on anyone. 

"Yes, he did. I am not an expert on Necromancer, my dear, so I cannot tell you why or how, but rest assured we will find out what has happened. I suppose this is little comfort, but at least your father did not die alone." Dumbledore's eyes softened, and he reached over to pat her hand gently. "We'll get to the bottom of all this, Helena, I promise."

Helena could do nothing but nod. 

~*~

Helena's absence at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast had been noted by just about everyone. 

Hermione shot a questioning look over at Morag, who responded with her patented I'll Tell You All I Know Later. Since it was a Saturday, later wouldn't be too far away.

"Where is she?" Hermione asked, without any preamble. Morag didn't mind, she'd probably do the same in Hermione's place. 

Draco was silent, standing next to Morag. He'd already heard the story. 

"I found her in our room, right, covered in blood, sobbing, crumpled in a heap in the corner. She didn't even acknowledge my presence or anything, just...it was scary. So I went and got Daddy, and he took her to Madam Pomfrey, who went and got Dumbledore, and then a couple of hours later I'm still sitting in the waiting room thingie in front of Dumbledore's office and this guy -- looks kind of like Helena, but not -- walks past me, goes straight on in. Haven't seen Helena since." Morag finished. 

Harry, who had joined Hermione in coming to see Morag and Draco, looked shocked.

Deer in the headlights got nothin' on Hermione Granger.

~*~

Adrian sat on the floor in front of the fire in the private chambers Dumbledore had given him (with a spare room to put Helena in for the time being), Helena in his arms. He rested his cheek on her head, rocking her quietly, as sobs wracked her slender frame. 

He just wished he could do something more. He hated Helena living over here in England -- he couldn't keep an eye on her the way he could when she was back home in France. He'd promised Uncle Jean he'd take care of his cousin, but some job he'd made of _that_. 

~*~

__

Wizarding World In Chaos

Rita Skeeter Reporting

Last week, the wizarding world stood by in horror as Voldemort's first major attack was launched. The attack was on a small village called Little Hangleton, which is now rumored to be the birthplace and hometown of Voldemort's father. 

The entire village was levelled, and there are no survivors. Bodies line the streets, and most of the buildings have been burned to the ground or otherwise destroyed. The entire area reeks of death and destruction. There are no witnesses. 

The Minister of Magic, one Cornelius Fudge, has yet to issue any statements, and has so far refused to speak to the Daily Prophet. It is our humble opinion that the Minister is ineffectual at best, and a threat in his incompetence at worst. In the crisis we now face, who can we turn to, if not the Ministry? Those I have spoken to answer with one name. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore'll see us through this crisis better than that incompent ass, Fudge," Wensleydale Grint, 45, declared vehemently. "I'd trust that man with my life -- hell, I trust him with the lives of my daughters, sending them to Hogwarts. I wouldn't trust Fudge with half a brick."

"That's right," Emma Grint, 43, agreed with her husband. "Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid for a good reason! If anyone should be in charge in these troubled times, it's him."

Virginia Graham echoed their statements. "If I had to choose between Fudge and Dumbledore? No choice at all." 

So there you have it. When our lives are endangered so, can we afford a Minister such as Cornelius Fudge? What is the Ministry doing to keep us safe? From what this reporter can see, they are just scrambling and falling over each other. 

Who will be the next Little Hangleton?

Who, indeed.

Morganna scowled at the 'Prophet on the table as she tried to soothe Julian, who had decided (at bloody one in the morning) that he was going to cry, endlessly, for no reason at all. She and Severus had flipped a coin to see who came at the shrieking infant's call.

Morganna was now convinced that damn coin was rigged, and the next time, she was finding one. 

The fact that Skeeter's article dominated the front page wasn't helping her mood. What made it worse was that for once, that damned woman was right. 

Finally. Julian was quiet again, and after a few hesitant moments, Morganna was certain he was asleep. With a sigh, she lay him back in his bassinet and went gratefully back to bed. Full-time mothering was hard, and she'd thought she'd be out of practice with babies after having 16 years between children, but thankfully, she discovered it was much like flying a broom. You just don't forget how.

"...'Ganna?" 

What? Oh yes, that great sleepy lump, her husband.

"Julian's asleep now." She assured him, cuddling in close. "Go back to sleep, dear. You have a lesson in the morning."

He was already asleep. Morganna sighed again, and drifted off herself. 

~*~

A mouthful of red wine was spat across the room. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you said Jean was dead." Lacrimosa stood up, barely noticing the house elves that rushed to clean up her mess. 

"That is what I said," Cassandra confirmed, with a faint smile. "Problem, dear girl?" 

"No…no problem." 

Lacrimosa's eyes burned into her former mentor's back as the darker haired woman left. 

~*~

****

Author's Note 

Ahh…finally. Not much changed except for things've been shifted around and I added that final scene. But _finally_ things are going to start going to plan…


	8. Private Demons

[Disclaimer: Anything JK Rowling created, I don't own.] 

****

Author's Note

Yes, I'm finally getting back to _On A Crooked Path_, felt the need to fix up some things in the last…oh, six chapters. So basically everything I didn't like anymore got axed and the stuff I did like was shuffled into one chapter. I did add some things to that – the last scene, for example, and about two sentences in a previous scene. 

Gyah. I've had writer's block on this stupid story for so long I just got completely lost…add to that the fact I can't entirely remember where I intended to go with it in the first place…

But, there is hope yet. I have a plot! (Bits of one, anyway). 

Wondering what the deal is with Lacrimosa back in chapter seven? Most people who've roleplayed with me will know, but for the rest of you, you'll just have to wait and see. 

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Eight: Private Demons

By Adele Elisabeth

Hugh had a bad feeling about all of this. A very, very bad feeling. 

There was a new grave next to William's, when he went back for a second visit, proclaiming Jean Everly recently dead. There was something terribly familiar about that name…god, who was he? He was sure he'd known him, or known of him, or maybe Will—

Oh. 

The summer before their sixth year, Hugh had gone with William to William's family's summerhouse in France. There, William had introduced him to his closest friend – Jean Everly. 

Well, that explained who that was. Why he was so familiar. What it didn't explain was the horrible feeling he got when he looked at that marble gravestone. Or why Everly was buried here in England, instead of at home…

He remembered how Lucia had complained about her sister making a new friend – Cassandra something – who was altogether too much like said sister for Lucia's comfort…thinking about Lucia ached these days. He still couldn't believe she was dead, but he'd attended the funeral. He'd seen the casket lowered into the ground and covered over and he'd touched the gravestone. 

Only two of the Montaques he'd known were left now – Morganna and Lacrimosa. He'd known them both, of course. Anna had been a sweet little thing that Lucia had introduced him to, the summer before her sixth year (Anna's, not Lucia's). He'd met Lucia through her mother, and it had turned out they moved in much the same circles. Lucia had been a very precocious girl. She'd been dragging her younger sister about with her, and Hugh had found himself befriending the much quieter Montaque sister. As for Lacrimosa, eldest of the Montaque girls…

'Vicious bitch' didn't quite do justice to what Hugh thought of that particular woman. Only…

He frowned. He remembered Lucia mentioning something about Lacrimosa and that Everly fellow…what was it? 

Damn. This was going to bother him all day, now. 

The house-elves had fled when Lacrimosa started smashing things. 

Now, some hours (and several bottles of wine) later, she half-sat, half-fell onto the absurd bean-bag that Lucia had bought—

Lucia. 

Christ. Lucia, Gerad…her own _family_. 

She'd killed them. 

Why should it bother her, she wondered, almost challengingly. They'd stood in her way. In her Lord's way. She got them out of the way. 

…just like Cassandra got Jean out of the way…

Lacrimosa tried not to think about that as she swore, feeling where she'd stood on a broken vase, the blood reminding her that _she_, at least, was still alive. 

__

She'll burn, my love, she promised in the silence of her mind. _She'll burn for what she did to you…to us…_

So she healed her numerous cuts and tried hard not to remember wide, dark eyes full of accusation and hate. Eyes that looked upon her as if she were Satan himself. 

Tried not to remember how it had hurt. 

__

Helena-Marie Everly, 

Twelve years ago you trusted me when he couldn't. 

Now I ask you to do this again. I know I have no right to, not anymore, not after what I have done. I won't be surprised if you burn this letter without reading it. I would. 

He died for her, and I won't let you waste that. I can and will do what your conscience and your laws will never allow. I will do this with or without your blessing. I merely felt that you deserved knowledge of my intentions. 

There was no signature, but none was needed. She knew who wrote that, and she knew what it meant. She had been afraid of this ever since they found Helena staring in horror at her father's body, Helena who had been in that blood-soaked and sound-proofed room, screaming, for hours before they realized what had happened. 

"My darling girl," she whispered, folding the letter in two and casting it into the fire. "What have you become?" 

Her son had always told her to stop asking questions she knew the answers to. 


	9. Set a thief to catch a thief

[Disclaimer: I don't own anything JK Rowling created. If she could see her way clear to loan me Draco and Severus, I wouldn't complain, though.] 

****

Author's Note 

I'm ignoring most of OotP as far as my fanfiction is concerned -- it just doesn't fit. Might use some of the stuff though. You'll know it when you see it, I imagine. 

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Nine: Set a thief to catch a thief

By Adele Elisabeth

Cassandra smiled to herself -- a cold, cruel sort of a smile. 

"Lacci…Lacci…Lacci…and you had such potential." She tsk-tsked, with a melodramatic sigh. "Thieving little bitch thinks she's going to kill me? Not hardly, poppet. Not hardly." It hadn't exactly been difficult to get to the bottom of Lacrimosa's motives -- after all, she herself was the reason Lacci and Jean spent all those long, cold years apart.

She was rather proud of that fact. 

Lacrimosa had never been what you might call, say, _careful_ when it came to her feelings, and she had a tendency to act without thinking. Cassandra knew her very well, after all, she had taught her most of what she knew. Lacrimosa was angry and hurting and the first thing she was going to do was get Helena safe, and then…and then Lacrimosa would be coming after her. 

First, though, before she dealt with her errant former pupil, it was time to get her hands on that idiot daughter of hers. Hadn't Thamala learned _anything_ from her mother? If Thamala thought Cassandra was going to let her off lightly because she was blood, the silly little cow had another thing coming. 

Of course, Thamala had always caught on quickly when Cassandra taught her the right way. Cassandra's rewards system worked like this: 

Do it right and I won't have to hurt you. 

Well, it had worked well enough. Sadly, Thamala had failed miserably last year. And she still needed the brat. Helena had the potential to be so much more…she could see that now. But to get at that, she still needed Thamala…much as she hated to admit it. 

Hugh was confused. 

It wasn't a state he often found himself in, and he decided he didn't much care for it. It wasn't terribly pleasant. 

Pleasant or not, he was completely confounded. 

He had been passing through Hogsmeade that weekend, to pick up a little package, when a pair of gossipy Ravenclaws had brushed past him, chattering animatedly about how 'that Everly girl' had brushed off their offer to show her around Hogsmeade, saying she was meeting a friend. When pressed, apparently, she gave the name 'William Davis' -- which quite confused the pair, as there wasn't currently a William Davis attending Hogwarts. 

It had bloody confused him, too. He'd seen Will _die_. He went to the grave every year. He'd carried the body to Pomfrey, for Christ's sake. 

Will was _dead_, and that's all there was to it. 

This was just…

Confusing. 

He froze when he saw the peculiar pair walking toward him. 

The girl was unremarkable -- well, she was fairly pretty, and her black hair and pale skin made for an interesting contrast, but that wasn't what had caught his eye. 

It was more her companion. Her almost transparent companion, who happened to be floating slightly above the ground. 

"William…" 

William didn't notice, but Helena had caught sight of the handsome blond man staring at them. Well, to be more accurate, he was staring at William. It wasn't so much the fact he was staring that had caught her attention -- William was a fairly odd sight, being dead and all -- but how he was staring. 

There was a myriad of indistinct emotions in his eyes, but it was plain to see he recognized William. 

She tugged on the translucent sleeve; thankful for the fact her hand didn't pass through him -- that had been odd. He'd promised to stay, as he called it, 'touchable' after the first time he walked through her by accident and she shrieked. "Will," 

He glanced down at her. "What is it?" 

"Zat man over zere -- 'e's looking at you." She pointed at the blond, who had yet to stop staring. "Did you know him?" 

"You could say that, luv," William agreed, hurrying her along a bit. "Didn't you want to buy a book?" 

"What's wrong, Will?" she dug her heels in, until he was forced to stop or start dragging her. 

"Nothing is wrong, Helena, nothing." He assured her, and earned a disbelieving look for his trouble. "Nothing that can't wait for another time," he amended. 

When they looked around, Hugh was gone. 

Lacrimosa quietly packed her things. She hadn't received a reply from Marie, but she hadn't really been expecting one. Gerad was dead. Lucia was dead. _Jean_ was dead. 

Elaynie Parker had died years ago, when her daughters were only young, but what she had left behind would be more than enough for Lacrimosa's purposes. 

Elaynie had kept a journal, and in the back of this journal she kept names and addresses and the like of nearly everyone she knew. It hadn't been that hard to get her hands on Elaynie's journal, and now that she had it, it was time to pay a visit to some old friends of her brother's and his _lovely_ wife's.

As long as she was after Cassandra, Helena was left defenseless -- well, not exactly, but Lacrimosa wasn't leaving Helena's safety in the hands of the Hogwarts faculty -- and that did not sit well with the blonde. 

Elaynie's half-sister, Cordelia Wilde, ran an agency in Boston with the rather extraordinary Alexis Pryce, and the pair owed her late brother a favor. 

Lacrimosa would be quite happy to collect. 

It wouldn't take long for her to get there -- thankfully, considering time was of the essence. 

She'd always liked her brother's wife. Elaynie had been such a nice person. If Lacrimosa hadn't been a vicious, murdering bitch, they might've been good friends. 

Helena returned quietly to the room that she shared with Morag Snape (and, she had noted with vague amusement, Draco Malfoy). She would've been happy to stay in a dormitory with the other Ravenclaw girls, but Dumbledore had decided that she would be safer in Miss Snape's room. 

William had steadfastly refused to explain the odd encounter in Hogsmeade -- a fact which she found worrisome, in the short time she had known the ghost, he'd proven himself to be rather talkative. 

"Hello," 

She blinked and spun -- but it was only Morag. The peculiar blonde girl that always seemed to be watching her. "Hello."  
"Is something wrong?" 

"No…nozzing is…wrong." _That I know of,_ she added silently. _Why doesn't he trust me with this?_ It was an almost plaintive thought, and one she most certainly wasn't going to voice. 

Morag watched her carefully -- as per usual. "A letter came for you earlier. Big black owl." 

Helena brightened. "'Is name is Chubblebucket. 'E belongs to a friend of mine, Genevieve Renaldi." 

"Chubblebucket," Morag echoed flatly. 

"She 'as an odd sense of 'umor." 

"I see." 

"And ze letter?" Helena prompted. 

"It's on your desk." The other girl pointed, before looking down at her book. 

Well. That conversation was very clearly over, something that didn't bother Helena a bit. 

__

Dear Helena, 

Vie here. It simply isn't the same without you, Lena. Not to mention how Ella and Elli are now -- you did hear about Gerad dying, didn't you? We all wore black, of course. Ava's been beside herself. And don't let's forget about what's been happening to you -- you are being careful, aren't you? It's just not safe. I know I shouldn't, and I can't see the professors being impressed if you get caught with it, but I enclosed a dagger. It's that one I showed you, the one my sisters bought me when I was eleven. Promise me you'll keep it with you always. I worry about you, Lena. And it's very clear my worries are completely and utterly founded, given the situation. Do you want me to come over there? It'd be easy to forge Mother's signature on the papers, and she wouldn't notice me gone. Or care, for that matter. But that's not the point. If all those crazy English folk are outnumbering you, you be sure and let me know and I'll be right there. If your cousin is still there, hit him. Men are all the same, your cousin is no exception, and I saw him with Nymph Montaque before he went over to see you. Cloe keeps crying about it, she's driving me up the wall. Is it wicked of me to want to hex the silly cow? 

Probably. 

In any case, we all miss you terribly. Ella's putting on a brave front and all that. Elli doesn't come out of her dormitory except for classes and we have to drag her to meals, and even Ava's not as bright as she used to be. This isn't fair, all this danger. You-Know-Who (and isn't that a stupid name?) has a lot to answer for. 

Keep safe,

Genevieve O. Renaldi 

Helena smiled to herself as she read her friend's letter, sitting at her desk. She couldn't help but admire the stiletto blade Genevieve had insisted on sending -- she'd seen it before, of course, but it was well worth another look. Celeste and Marianne had always taken good care of their little sister, and this was almost all she had left of them. Helena was rather surprised Genevieve had sent it, but she was rather unpredictable. 

__

Dear Vie, 

I'll keep it with me, I promise. Adrian's gone, but I'll do better than hit him, I'll tell his father. You know how my uncle loathes that Nymph and her sister, and their parents. Even Ella and Elli can't stand them, and they're family. Hogwarts is…well, it's not bad_, it's just not quite what I'm used to. I'm sharing a room with Morag Snape -- she's Ella and Elli's cousin, you know, his youngest sister's girl. She's always watching me, but I heard rumours about what went on when Thamala Blake was here, so I'm not surprised. _

I met a ghost, his name is William Davis, and he's very kind. We've made friends. He's a little secretive at the moment -- and it strikes me that he knows something I don't, but I haven't asked him about it. He's been very helpful. 

I miss you all too, my classes are vastly dull without you there to make snide comments about the teachers. 

Cloe's always irritated me, but you're a very wicked creature anyway, so I don't think it'll make much of a difference. 

Safe as I can be, 

Helena C. Everly

Morag wasn't used to this, this silence, this being _shut out_. Helena barely seemed to acknowledge her existence, let alone her presence, and it grated. Her nerves were shot to hell, and it bothered her just being in the same room with the odd girl, but Ms Everly's complete and utter indifference to her was possibly the worst part. She was used to being hated, to being loved, and to being ignored when people were upset with her, or didn't like her, but this girl probably wouldn't have noticed if she chose right then to just drop down dead. 

Every time Morag looked at her, she remembered Thamala's pathetic scheming, Thamala Blake's part in the fiasco last year that had ended in her and her mother's _kidnap_. Helena didn't even look at her, though. When she looked over, it felt as though she were looking through Morag, looking for something more interesting, something intriguing, something that _mattered_. 

Whatever this was, Morag didn't like it. It rubbed her the wrong way. Something was going on, too, she was certain of it. There were all sorts of strange things going on around Hogwarts this year, and at least some of it was focused around this new student. 

She remembered where she'd heard the name Everly before, then, with a start. 

She'd heard it in a whispered conversation last summer, on one of those rare occasions Uncle Gerad and Aunt Lucia -- it still hurt to think of them -- had both been serious at once. They'd been talking, and he'd mentioned 'that Everly fellow', when they were talking about Aunt Lacrimosa. 

Watching her roommate scratching away with the pretty quill Morag had glimpsed earlier, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It could've been just coincidence. Everly couldn't be that uncommon a name, could it? 

Morag had never believed in coincidences. 


	10. Gentlemen

[Disclaimer: The monkey made me do it.] 

****

Author's Note 

Wow…what a lot of chapters I've done recently. Small ones, to be sure, but there you go. Anyone who wants an explanation of my disclaimer -- Bob, the green monkeh, is my new muse, since the Inspiration Skunk abandoned my pathetic plots and I. Bob's more fun than that damn Skunk, anyway. That's right, I have a plot monkey. 

Ahem. 

Anyway, I'll get on with the actual story. Seriously, who the hell actually reads the author's note? If anyone does…[_waves madly_] 

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Ten: Gentlemen

By Adele Elisabeth

Cordelia read and reread the brief letter she had received earlier that day. It was from her late sister's late husband's sister, whom she vaguely recalled meeting at the wedding. She also recalled not particularly liking or trusting the woman in question, and with, as far as she could see, good reason. The letter had been brief, and to the point -- a child was in danger, and she wished to hire them to protect said child. 

Cordelia had the sneaking suspicion that it was not quite so cut and dried. Gerad had told her once that if his sister ever said something was simple, then it would be a good idea to find out exactly what was in it for her. 

Not to mention the fact that she'd heard Ms Perrault's name in connection to that Dark Lord chap -- and that was never a good thing. Cordelia Wilde was a former Auror, she doubted very much that it would be wise to get herself entangled with people of Lacrimosa's ilk. 

However, a little bit of checking later said that yes, it was entirely likely that the young Miss Everly probably _was_ in severe amounts of danger -- and Ms Perrault was offering an absurd amount of money to keep her out of it. 

With dollar signs flashing in her eyes, Cordelia wrote a very simple reply. 

__

Ms Perrault,

When do we start?

Cordelia Wilde

Hermione frowned slightly as she watched Helena enter the library. The other girl hadn't been to many classes lately, and no teacher was talking about it, but on the few times Hermione _had_ seen her, she'd looked a little…off. Tired, maybe, but it seemed like more than that. There was a Slytherin ghost who'd also been seen with her, from time to time -- and Hermione was _sure_ he was there now, even if she couldn't see him. It was subtle, but she was sure Helena was leaning on someone. You wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't been looking -- but Hermione was looking, and she was very observant. 

Something was going on. And if it didn't involve Helena Everly, she'd eat her hat. 

All the books she'd seen Helena reading had _nothing_ to do with anything they were currently studying, and her reading habits seemed to vary, but for the most part, she was getting out everything the library had on Necromancy. 

"The best books on Necromancy are in the Restricted Section, but you'll need a pass from one of the teachers to go in there," she commented casually as she walked past to pick up a potions text from the shelf a few rows down. 

Helena's back stiffened, but she didn't reply; though Hermione _did_ see her casting curious looks in the direction of the Restricted Section. 

Hugh's mind was still reeling when he stood back in his apartment, clutching the parcel in his hand. 

That had been…

He wasn't entirely sure what that had been, to tell the truth. 

William was dead, that was true, but he wasn't gone. 

William was a _ghost_. 

In all the time since William's death, he had only once briefly considered that possibility -- running into Nearly Headless Nick on the way to Pomfrey's with Will's body. But Bianca, little Bumble-Bi, Will's darling sister…she'd been a Necromancer. And he could still remember the way she'd raged, screaming and crying because she couldn't find her brother. She'd searched, he'd gone with her, silently, as she raced through the school, and he'd held her when she finally gave up, her tears staining his shirt. 

Bianca had died only a few years later. A spell, a powerful spell…he never discovered what it had been she was attempting, but it had backfired, nothing left of the sweet, wide-eyed little girl that had idolised her brother and his lover, nothing left of her except a crumpled, broken body clutching a bloody knife. 

Hugh shuddered at the memory, forcing it out of his mind. Now was not the time for that. 

What the hell was now the time for? 

Will hadn't wanted to see him, that much was abundantly clear. He had been the last thing Will wanted to see. Their eyes had met, so, so briefly, and then Will had fled. 

It shouldn't have surprised him; given the circumstances they had last seen each other in. 

He wondered if he was allowed to let it hurt. 

It was times like this William hated being dead. 

Beyond warmth, beyond breath, beyond…beyond bloody _booze_! 

That was what _really_ bothered him about being dead. It meant right when you really needed a drink, you couldn't have one. Even when you didn't really need a drink, for that matter. Of course, he had to admit, when he'd been alive, he'd 'needed' a drink more often than not. 

__

"Why are you here, Will?" 

William glanced down at where Hugh played with the edge of the blankets he lay underneath. There was an oddly serious expression on the other boy's face, one he didn't often see. He caught the idle hand in his own, tangling their fingers together. "I thought you knew," he said lightly, teasing, "gentlemen prefer blondes." 

The tension that had been there dissipated as Hugh laughed, "Well, then, aren't you lucky I'm not a gentleman?" 

Hugh's moods were easy to read, the man wore his heart on his sleeve, but that had been one of the few times he had not been able to figure out just what was going on. Things between them had always been very simple, superficially at least. Hugh was far more complex than he seemed, there was so much more there than even Will had known. He'd lived from moment to moment, and he'd always brushed off Will's concern about it. Will wondered if Hugh still lived that way. He hadn't seemed the type to change, but Will supposed everyone had to grow up, sooner or later. 

__

Well, not if you're dead, he amended silently, staring at his translucent visage in the mirror, frozen permanently at the age of his death. There were so many ghosts here in Hogwarts, if one cared to look.

Some of them he got on well with, some he avoided for one reason or the other. The Bloody Baron had always vaguely unsettled him, but it was the Tavington twins that he found, well, to be perfectly frank, disturbing. A little boy and a little girl, dressed in fashions that placed them in the mid-1700s. They were never apart, and the little girl with the wide, dark eyes never spoke. Her brother wasn't terribly talkative himself, but he _had_ spoken. 

Will had yet to meet anyone who had heard the little girl speak. 

Nobody seemed to know exactly how they came to be here, and it was considered impolite to ask. 

(In other words, the little girl was a rather odd creature and even other ghosts would rather not spend too much time in her presence) 

Oh…look. He'd gone and gotten completely side-tracked. He was good at that. One minute he's wondering if Hugh would ever grow up, and the next moment he was wondering who the little girl had been, and why the twins seemed to avoid the Slytherin portion of the school. There had been a Professor Tavington, he recalled vaguely, Head of Slytherin, who'd died in 1755; he'd seen the man's portrait. 

Well, perhaps he would look into that. He needed something to distract himself with, and he'd always wondered about that pair. 

Morag watched Draco sleep. He looked much different when he slept, she reflected. Not so much the prince of Slytherin, the Draco the rest of the world got, but more _her_ Draco. Maybe even someone else entirely. He hadn't been quite himself lately, of _that_ she was certain. He'd been distant, and when he wasn't distant, he was snapping. Snapping at Parkinson was one thing (a very amusing thing, in fact). Being a bastard to _her_, with no provocation, was quite another. That she had made _abundantly_ clear. He'd had no right and he'd been downright insulting. 

She'd been startled, then hurt, then furious, and her expressions had probably changed appropriately. She wasn't very good at hiding her feelings when she wasn't really concentrating. When Draco started on her parents (god knew her family situation was a little precarious), she'd snapped back at least _her_ father didn't kill her mother. 

All expression on his face had shut down and her hands flew to her mouth. She'd apologised profusely until he took her in his arms and they sat there, quietly, him assuring her it was his fault, he shouldn't have taken out his bad mood on her. She'd felt so guilty she'd forgotten to wonder what the hell it had been about in the first place. 

Draco was good at that. 

__

Now she was wondering, though. She didn't know what to think. He'd lost his mother, and he was grieving, that made sense to her. She wanted to attribute his bursts of temper to that, she wanted very much to brush it off as part of the grieving process. It was just for a moment there, she'd been _afraid_ of him. There had been something in his eyes and it had frightened her and…

She just didn't know what to think. She hardly knew what to feel anymore, let alone what to think. 

"Morag?" 

The blonde turned slightly to see Hermione Granger falling into step next to her -- they had Potions next, with Morag's father. "Yes?" 

"I think I found something." 

"It's a family history," Hermione explained, blowing dust off the cover of the book. "The _Blake_ family history, all the way down to Thamala's mother. It doesn't have her in it, but there was one thing that interested me." She flicked through the pages until she found what she was looking for, and pointed. 

__

Cassandra I. Blake marries Jean O. Everly

Morag's head snapped up to meet Hermione's expectant gaze. "Everly." She breathed. "I _knew_ it." 

***

A/N

[does a little dance] Oh, go me. Credits to George (aka Lovebunny) for the Tavingtons, as it was her character that I based the little girl Tavington on, and a plot that we created. They're going to be a part of the plot, soon enough…I have a lot of plot, don't I? 


End file.
